Determination
by MandyJane
Summary: Ginny's thoughts when Harry and the others left her to hunt Horcruxes, and at the Battle when she thought he was dead. Slight fluff for HPGW
1. The Awful Year

**A/N - Bonjour mes amis! This is the product of a spare hour after re-reading DH and wondering just how Ginny dealt with those awful moments when she thought that Harry was dead. I hope you enjoy it, and please leave a review! If you don't, it just seems as if you read it and were utterly indifferent****, which is pretty depressing...I'm sure you can imagine. So please leave a comment!**

Ginny leant her head against her knees, curling her arms around them as she shrank back into the alcove. She gulped in shaky breaths, trying to steady herself after her frantic flight from the Great Hall. It was a day like any other, filled with taunts and threats and cruel punishments and pitying stares. Today she had been eating lunch with Luna, sitting isolated at the very end of the Gryffindor table, when a couple of Slytherins thought it would be funny to come up and chat to them…

"_Hey Weaslette, enjoying the food? I bet you don't get a lot of that at home"_

"_Nah, Potty normally sends her some – but he ditched her, didn't he?"_

"_Why'd he do it, She-Weasel? Or did you ditch him? Finally realise he's a loon?"_

"_No, she's just as crazy as him!"_

They had walked away, laughing, but the words hit Ginny harder than she thought they would. So far she'd held up better than that – offering up scathing comebacks when people shouted comments about Harry after her, defending Ron and Hermione whenever she could, but sometimes they touched a nerve.

Since the wedding, when they left, she had been waiting for a letter, a note, any kind of message. It had never come – yet. Ginny always added that 'yet' on the end, because she was still waiting, however thin and ragged her hopes were becoming. She relieved those last moments over and over, trying to extract some deeper meaning from his words…

_Harry edged a little closer as they stood in the shadows. Ron and Hermione were sitting at a table on the other side of the tent, desperately trying not to look as if they wanted to sit closer; Mr and Mrs Weasley were spinning around the floor and all of Ginny's brothers were occupied with either girls, dragon specialists or casting charms on great aunts to turn them green…but there was still a barrier. Harry was still disguised as 'Cousin Barny', so instead of dancing they just stood at the edges and talked quietly._

"_I'm going to miss you this year" he said quietly, glancing over the guests _

"_Why don't you come back with us then? Fight him from the school"_

"_You know I can't, Gin. And I'm sorry. But there's something I want to tell you-"_

_Then all the chaos began, and Hermione wrenched Harry away from her just as Mrs Weasley pulled Ginny in the other direction. She last saw him disappearing out of the tent, turning slightly to look back at her with one agonised gaze before he was gone…_

And now Ginny ran and hid whenever it all got too much – behind tapestries, statues, in forgotten corners of the castle where no-one could hear the great, wrenching sobs that threatened to tear her body into pieces. When she saw a tallish boy with black hair walking away from her in the corridor, a jolt of pain ran through her. When she went out to watch the quidditch matchers and she realised that the person chasing the snitch was too small and wiry to be him, her hands shook a little and tears started in her eyes. And she _hated _it, because this is not Ginny Weasley. Ginny Weasley is strong and confident and determined, a girl who fights tooth and nail for everything she has and everything she wants. This girl she has become is a phantom of Ginny, someone who deliberately blends in to the background to avoid conflict, a girl who takes the long route to lessons to avoid other people's pity. A girl who breaks down into tears when someone talks about Him, and who avoids all the places where they once sat together…

_Harry pulled her closer to him, one arm slung around her shoulder as she giggled, that scarily warm sensation of happiness bubbling up in her stomach and breaking free in happy peals of laughter. They ran up the stairs to the Owlery, slipping a little on the stone steps, bashing against each other in their unwillingness to break their hold on the other. They stumbled into the stifling warmth of the Owlery, inhaling the musty scent of straw and owl pellets, and Harry pulled her even closer…_

It would all be so much easier if he would just tell her what was happening, rather than leaving her defenceless here. With Snape as headmaster and the Carrows helping him, there were no limits to the punishments. Umbridge's quills had been brought back – with a vengeance – and the backs of Ginny's hands were laced with vicious welts, new gashes opening up the older scars to fresh agony. She likes to imagine the same thing happening to her heart, every time the post comes with no letter, just a copy of the Prophet detailing the searches for him. And deep down she knows that he won't write, can't write because of the danger, but still, it's _Harry, _and he always found a way before.

But at the same time, she remembers that he _is _Harry, and because of that she has to wait, and be strong as well. So she helps with the DA and bears the punishments as best she can, and buries the awful, tremulous fear deep inside her where no-one will ever see it…

* * *

><p><em>The Battle Of Hogwarts<em>

_He's dead, oh merlin, oh gods, oh oh oh oh he's dead he's dead he's dead. _

Ginny collapsed to the ground, wet earth squelching on her bare legs as she crammed her arm against her mouth to stifle the scream of anguish. Her body shook with silent screams and sobs, and she almost seemed to shrink, crumpling down and kneeling on the ground, tears streaming down her face as her breath tore itself from her lungs.

_Oh gods, oh merlin. Oh Harry Harry Harry, oh no._

People around her seem to have frozen, none of them touch her. Many of them are crying too, or sitting, stunned. Her brothers all look utterly dumbstruck. No-one expected this. Proffessor Mcgonagall is screaming, the awful sound echoing around the blasted area. The mists thicken and a drizzle of rain begins, as if the world is crying just as Ginny is.

_Oh no no no no no._

He looks so small there, in Hagrid's arms. So utterly defeated and defenceless. They never expected this – he was supposed to be invincible. He was supposed to survive and win and grow up to be happy, happier than anyone. That was what should have happened.

_Oh Harry Harry Harry._

And then an eternity seems to pass as she kneels there, fingers digging into skin, earth, hair; anything to keep her connected. But then she tenses, and raises a pale ravaged face to the man who robbed her of her love. He doesn't even notice. Ginny slowly wrenches herself up, clutching her wand tightly, and stares at him with awful, empty eyes. A brother places a restraining hand on her shoulder, but she shakes it off and takes a measured step forward, like a prisoner to the block. Her arms tremble a little but her face is set and her step steady.

_I'm coming Harry._


	2. The Aftermath

**A/N - Yes, all you wonderful but slightly midguided story-alerters, I decided to add another snippet. Now a word of necessary warning: Ginny has some major moodswings in this, and they are both a leetly OOC, but there are reasons for this: 1) They've both just gone through an incredibly traumatic battle and seen horrific displays of cruelty. 2) They're both teenagers. 3) Ginny is a teenage _girl, _and we're meant to have crazy and unbelieveable mood swings. Or else I just go to school with a ton of bipolar girls. And I do know that the end conversation is a bit strange adn disjointed, but conversations are like that late at night, and evveryone is liable to forget them if you've just been asleep. ANYWAY don't let me ruin this, please enjoy and review! x**

It was over. They had won. Won. Ginny sat on the bench, her mother's arm around her. She felt totally numb: she knew that she _should _be upset, devastated, shocked, but she couldn't seem to feel a thing. She just sat there, unable to tear her eyes away from the shredded remains of a Gryffindor banner that lay crumpled against the table leg. One corner of it was unpleasantly dark where it had been dragged through a pool of blood. You'd think there wouldn't be much blood, when wizards could kill with two simple words. But there was, so much. For the first time in her life Ginny had witnessed the inhumane, unnatural cruelty of evil. And yet she still couldn't feel.

She didn't see anyone for the rest of that night - there were no emotional, epic reconciliations - she staggered up to her dormitory and collapsed on the bed, falling asleep immediately. The next morning she woke at dawn, before anyone else, and crawled out of the stiflingly warm bedroom and down to the Great Hall instinctively, all the years of routine leading her before she realised that there wouldn't be any breakfast there.

It had been almost destroyed, you see. The enchantments on the ceiling remained but the sky appeared permanently black with great clouds passing across it sluggishly. One of the walls was almost entirely gone, a great gaping hole in its place, and the stone flagstones al ripped up and distorted by the violent spells. Instead, she made her way directly to the kitchens, hoping against hope that the house elves had been un-evacuated. She passed many bodies sprawled out over the corridors, sleeping after the battle. She passed other bodies too, sinisterly still and covered in thin white blankets. There were less of them, but they still appeared with terrible frequency, almost reproachful in their silence.

The Entrance Hall was empty but for a sole figure, slumped against a statue by the door. A shortish boy, wiry and strong, but with messy black hair. He stood as he heard Ginny's measured footsteps watching her with exhausted eyes. She regarded him blankly for a moment, and then she broke. All the emotions that she had previously not felt came rolling out of her like crashing waves on a beach, unstoppable, terrifying in their determination to reach their destination. She stopped short of his outstretched arms, her face deathly pale and contorted in anger against her flaming hair.

"How could you, Harry?" She hissed, and then her voice began to gradually rise with each world until she screamed the last phrase to the gargoyles "Do you know, what that did to me – to everyone? How broken I felt? How it seemed as if we no hope left at all? How – how could you do that to me?"

The harsh words echoed around the draughty hall into silence. He looked at her helplessly, standing there tense and accusing, and shrugged, defeated in his victory.

"I had to, Ginny. It was the only way"

All of a sudden, her shoulders slumped. The appearance of fight, of vituperance and stridency and strength fled her and she looked very young, very fragile. Her brown eyes stood out huge from her white face, lips trembling as tears began to dribble down her face. He crossed to her in one step, gathering her up in his arms as she began to sob uncontrollably, clinging to him.

They found them like that hours later, curled up in a dusty corner, wrapped in each other's arms. No-one made any comments: everyone needed whatever comfort they could get in these times. No matter that they had, technically, won. Really there was no winner. Too much was lost.

They spoke quietly, murmuring. She devoured him with her eyes, as if she might never see him again. Many questions were answered for them both, that day. Why he never wrote; why she tried to fight. They fell asleep in the same position, and someone laid a thick blue blanket over them. When the night dragged on and the air seemed to thicken, as it does in those hours after midnight, they were both dozily awake.

"Harry"

He grunted in return, eyes opening reluctantly

"Harry" she said sleepily "What about the wedding? I know you had to leave, don't worry. But what were you going to say?"

He looked confused for a moment, and she had to describe the circumstances leading up to their interrupted conversation, when realisation dawned.

"Oh." He sounded slightly disconnected, as if he couldn't really control what he was saying "I was going to tell you that I thought I was in love with you"

"Oh" she considered that for a moment, and then she snuggled back down into warmth of the crook of his arm "Good. I was worried about that. Goodnight, again."

"G'night" he muttered, and oblivion overtook them again.

Neither remembered it clearly in the morning, both believing it to be a dream of sorts, as so many late night conversation are wont to be, but the possibility was enough to keep them close. And the next time they had that conversation, they both remembered it _exactly._


End file.
